


Last Grey Ship, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Canon - Fills plot hole(s), Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Drama, Fourth Age, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Plot - Joy, Plot - Tear-jerker, Subjects - Legends/Myth/History, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Mythic/Poetic, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2002-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The voice of the Sea merely whispers, until the reasons to stay pass on.  Aragorn's days are ending, and Gimli faces more farewells as Legolas looks to the West ... How the story may have ended.  Book-derived per ROTK Appendixes.  Gap-filler.  Drama, angst, friendship.  Non-slash.<br/><br/>* Mithril Awards 2003 - Commended - Best Fourth Age or Beyond.<br/>* 2004 MEFAs, 1st place Post-WOTR drama,  Turin Turambar Award<br/>* 2005 One Ring Awards: Best Fan Fiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not DO this sort of thing. Never before have I felt moved to write anything built upon another's written work. Yet one day whilst driving I got this image in my head of Legolas sitting high above the Anduin River, grieving in silence. Then he and Gimli began a conversation in my head. And then they had other conversations and pretty soon the story that had got in my head would not be gotten out ... until I wrote this.

While I have endeavored to be as true to Tolkien's original characters and creations as my imperfect knowledge allows, I cannot come within a long bowshot of Tolkien's artistry with legend and prose, so may this but be a poor tribute to the master.

 

 

THE LAST GREY SHIP

A Tale of Many Partings

Being a view of what may have transpired at the end of King Elessar's days.

 

 

Sharp echoes of hoof beats battered the stone walls, as a grey horse hove  
near the gates of the White City. Long-legged and powerful, the animal  
bore the proud, unmistakable lines of Rohan, for its master still held  
friends among those people of the North. Though its limbs reached and  
flicked fast at a tempo held for many a mile, its smooth stride showed no  
weariness, nor was it troubled by its double burden. Indeed the only  
weariness may have rested in the bones of him who rode pillion, yet he  
begrudged not the pace. Urgency that had no name gripped both riders,  
unspoken save by the horse's master. Even he could say no more than he had  
heard a beloved voice as from afar, but the words were unclear. There  
remained only the unease that grew upon his mind, and so once more old  
comrades took to the long roads of Middle Earth. Nor did any manning the  
gates to the lower circle of the city hinder them, for the travelers were  
long known here.

A startled Guardsman stood forth to greet their clattering approach, as  
they neared the garrison stables. The face above the black and silver  
Tower livery was young, far too young to have known the dark days, but he  
had grown to manhood steeped in the mighty sagas of Minas Tirith and the  
great War. Well over a century had passed since the Ring was consumed in  
the fires of Mount Doom, yet among the people some legends still walked.  
Now the Guardsman's eyes widened as he recognized the faces of the riders,  
and in his shock he looked less soldier and more awe-struck boy.

"Master Legolas!" he exclaimed. "Master Gimli!"

Quick boots scrambled on the pavement, as he seized a mounting block and  
set it in the open. Slender hands drew rein there, and the rider bent a  
long arm to lend his passenger support to dismount. Wide-eyed still, the  
young Guardsman's look wavered between reverence and breathless chagrin.

"I had no word - no one told me - forgive me, m'lords!"

"No word was sent," the rearmost said, as he pulled a leg stiffly over the  
horse's round haunches. "We come by our own reckoning. Although I will  
say that I am beginning to get too old for such unseemly hurry."

The heavy, grey-streaked ropes of his beard fairly bristled with this  
statement, and the Dwarf, for so he was, grunted heavily as both feet found  
the sturdy block. Yet a quick hand swatted away the anxious concern of the  
Guardsman.

"Not that old, mind you! Have a care for yourself."

"Come, Gimli," the other rider soothed, and his voice was as gently melodic  
as his companion's was gruff. No mounting block needed he, as he lightly  
swung to earth. "You grow cross as an old badger. Perhaps a nice warm  
bath and a restful cup of sweet tea will ease you?"

"Warm bath. Tea." Gimli harrumphed mightily, although his eyes twinkled.  
"I can still out-walk you, Master Elf. On my own two good legs, mind you."

Though the Guardsman knew it not, such banter between these two friends was  
a habit so old that it no longer remembered itself. Yet he took his cue  
from the small smile gracing the taller one's fair Elven face, and allowed  
himself his own muted chuckle. His dutiful soldier's heart was soothed  
simply by realizing that he stood in no ill-favor, for being unprepared to  
receive such honored guests.

"Sirs," he said. "I know not if rooms have been prepared for you, but I  
will care for your horse. Shall I send someone to announce you?"

Laughter faded, then, the Dwarf's rough face growing long and Legolas's  
finer one suddenly solemn.

"No," he said quietly, and his eyes traveled up the narrow street. "I  
think perhaps we are expected."

***

They walked as an unlikely pair, a lithe prince of Elves who remained  
changeless as the silver face of the Moon, and a gnarled Dwarf warrior  
grown rugged as the mountains in which his people delved. Together their  
feet trod curved streets which had long ago grown familiar to them, and  
around them sculpted stone canyons glowed with the rose and lavender hues  
of evening, as if lit from some warm source deep within. By the labors of  
its renewed people, the glory of Minas Tirith was evidenced now not merely  
in its towers or martial splendor, but in the voices of prosperity and song  
that echoed from every house and open way. The marble paving underfoot was  
made perfect by the craftsmanship of Gimli's own people, as were stone  
pillars and walls planed smooth and white as the hearts of sea shells.  
From balcony and bench spilled the gifts of Legolas's Elven folk, gardens  
and growing things that rejoiced in the sunlight. In these waning days of  
February, little more than daffodils and crocuses thrust their green heads  
from the chilled dark earth, for high above the city Mount Mindolluin still  
bore the tattered white mantle of winter upon its craggy shoulders. Yet  
the Vale of the Anduin River was a garden awaiting only the warm blessing  
of Spring. Had they looked over their shoulders as they climbed, the  
visitors would have seen that the far fields of the Pelannor already  
blushed softly green.

Instead, their thoughts bent now to the chief architect of this abundance  
and fortune. For in the great Hall sat a wise King who had, for one  
hundred and twenty two years, ensured with firm compassion that all was  
aright and all was in order. With him ruled the Lady Arwen, fairest of the  
fair and Queen among both Elves and Men, forsaking the immortal life of her  
own people for the greater bliss of her heart. Nowadays their son, the  
image of his father in both likeness and spirit some said, more and more  
took the reins with that same steady hand. The blood of Isildur was well-  
redeemed, and the people called themselves blessed.

Yet for once, neither visitor looked with joy to the proofs of their long-  
ago struggle, nor took pleasure in the bounty which that hard-won peace had  
wrought.

"I like not such mystery," Gimli said as he trudged. "But I trust your  
instincts as I do my own."

Legolas made no reply, for ahead of them stood a familiar gate, and through  
it walked a familiar figure. Tall and grey-eyed, the planes of youth now  
sculpted to strong young manhood, the King's son saw their approach and  
paused. Oddly his bearing seemed not surprised, but rather he appeared a  
man relieved to spy an overdue guest.

"Eldarion," Legolas called. "Mae govannen."

"Well met, my friends." The prince came swiftly to clasp each by the hand.  
"He said you would come. I know not how he saw this, but then Father's  
sight has always been long." A smile bloomed on his face, a rare warmth of  
expression that favored his mother. "Especially when it comes to you two."

"Is he unwell?" Gimli asked abruptly. "I did not come all this way,  
bouncing about on the back of a horse like so much baggage, simply because  
my friend, here, has gazed at too much moonlight."

However, Gimli's brusqueness did not conceal the trueness of his heart from  
those who knew him, and the shadow suddenly upon Eldarion's countenance  
held other meaning.

"I dare not say. He asks for you." And his glance would not longer meet  
theirs. "Come, I will take you to him."

Elf and Dwarf exchanged troubled glances, but they followed with no further  
word. In a tower high above the city, bells struck the seventh hour of  
evening, and the sleepy streets murmured with folk faring their way to  
supper and home. The street that the heir of King Elessar led them  
through, however, brought them to a quieter place. A broad courtyard  
opened before them, paved in smooth white stone and ringing lightly with  
the constant silvery spatter of a fountain. In its midst a green verge lay  
framed in stone curbs, like a captive carpet of eternal spring, and above  
both pool and grass spread the graceful limbs of a mighty Tree. Even now,  
knowing this Tree from when it was but a tender sapling placed by the  
King's hand, they could not help but pause in reverence. The White Tree of  
Gondor had been many things, but above all, it had always spoken of hope.

Blue shadows had begun to gather and chill, now, and to fill the valley  
below with their cool flood. Behind the visitors, the sun burst its last  
glory behind the topmost spires of Mount Mindolluin, and saved its final  
flame for the distant peaks to the east. Amid that softly-growing twilight  
sat a man alone, the fingers of one hand tracing patterns in the watery  
face of the pool.

"Aragorn," Legolas breathed, for his keen Elven eyes read much in that  
silent pose. He strode past the prince on swift, silent feet, and noted  
not when Eldarion left them in private.

As the tall figure arose, Aragorn it proved to be. Also Elessar, Elfstone,  
Lord of the Dúnedain, King of Gondor and Arnor, and other titles, but once  
he was simply Strider, a Ranger of the Wilds. This was the man who greeted  
them now, grave and worn but kindly, unadorned by either circlet or sign of  
noble blood. Time worked but slowly upon the sons of Númenor, chiseling  
more keenly the line of cheek and jaw, and deepening the frost in his dark  
hair. The grey eyes smiling welcome were still bright as the first stars  
now winking overhead, and there remained a soldier's strength in the hand  
he laid upon Legolas's shoulder.

"A joy it is, to see you both," he said, and cast his smile upon Gimli now  
huffing to join them. "Although prying a Dwarf from the warm fireside of  
his mountain halls must be akin to uprooting the mountain itself."

"Prying, indeed," Gimli grumped. "I had just been saying that the weather  
favored a bit of a journey."

Legolas lifted a wry eyebrow, and Aragorn smiled. Then he bent himself  
back to his place, and laid a hand to the polished stone beside him.

"Come, sit, for I see you have come far at great speed."

"My heart bid me hasten," Legolas said, as he sank to rest. His eyes  
searched those of his friend, and he asked softly, "Tell me why I thought I  
heard your voice on the wind. Did I dream in my waking hours?"

Gimli too shared Legolas's sober regard. Kingly and strong Aragorn  
remained to their eyes, but now they also perceived a strange weariness in  
the set of his shoulders, and in the soft gaze he returned to them, and  
this awareness clutched suddenly with cold little hands.

"You did not dream. It was but a wish, a thought of mine." His smile  
crept forth as of old, warming them in its slow favor. "I am glad you have  
come."

Clapping his hands to his knees, Gimli fixed him with a fierce stare.  
"What needs done? If there are necks to cleave, or rocks to heave, you  
need but command it! My people work daintily in stone, these days, but  
they have not forgotten the arts of battle!"

With a gentle laugh, Aragorn raised one hand. "Peace, old friend. Since  
you have come, I have in mind another purpose."

Legolas touched light fingers to Aragorn's sleeve. "You need only ask."

The former Ranger bent forward and their worried eyes followed as he arose,  
for in his movements there had briefly seemed an odd, almost brittle care.  
Aragorn stood over them now, with the sky drawing a cloak of deepening blue  
above his head. Amid its dark azure the first glitter of stars seemed to  
rest like tiny white gems in his hair.

"I ask no further duty of you, my friends. Your service to me has been  
without flaw or reservation. And your friendship -." His glance touched  
upon them, and their hearts rose in their eyes. "Has been among my chief  
treasures and counted often, as I have never counted coins. I have held  
your hearts dearer than I do my own. No, I release you from all duties,  
and all claims, save one."

He turned from them, then, shoes whispering upon the smooth paving as he  
paced a moment. At last he turned to gaze quietly upwards into the  
silvered limbs of the Tree. As it had grown, so had the fortunes of united  
Gondor and Arnor, together under Aragorn's greatest care. For now the  
White Tree's swelling buds awaited the early days of June for blossom, yet  
even in its winter lethargy, Legolas felt its sweet grace like a soft  
breath upon his cheek. He could sense its slow-seeping strength even  
through the stones beneath him, as if the sap rising sleepily from the  
roots hummed deep within the very earth. And yet he felt other things  
moving than the quickening of spring, and he turned his eyes once more to  
Aragorn's tall silhouette.

"I am pleased it was Eldarion who brought you here," Aragorn said. "I hope  
you will find time to speak a while with him, for he never tires of your  
presence."

Gimli nodded firmly. "He is the son of kings, Aragorn. An oak among Men!"

The brief gleam of a smile lit Aragorn's face. "Yes, he is grown true and  
strong as either father or king could wish. The people find great faith  
and comfort in him, as do I." He stood and clasped his hands behind him.  
"Legolas, have you heard more of Treebeard in recent seasons?"

"Nay, for I have not journeyed into his lands in some while. But his wood  
remains as ever, I am told, green and fierce."

"That is well," he replied with a smile.

For a time their talk wandered as if they were but old friends exchanging  
news. Often it seemed that Aragorn's thought reached to those whom they  
had not seen in many years, but there was deep pleasure in sharing of those  
things that bound their friendship.

"Do you look down the years?" he finally asked. But his tone was of such  
slow musing that it begged no reply. "What deeds we have shared, the three  
of us. Long and often terrible were our labors, labors that seemed doomed  
to be consumed in Shadow. And yet in all our parts we strove and failed  
not, and here the White Tree grows once more, and the only shadows are  
those cast by the smiling Sun. Valor was found in the smallest of beings,  
and the greatest were not too mighty to fall. Elf and Man, Dwarf and Shire-  
folk, this peace is a crown for them all."

Then he paused as his thoughts gazed far along the roads of the past.  
"Even in our darkest hour, we somehow found light. Some small, simple  
thing. Hope. And those who brought hope to us. I wonder where beyond the  
world they all rest? Do they look back to us, or hold some fond thought  
for us?"

"Some do," Legolas said gently. "Beyond the Sea."

"Yes, the Sea."

A soft breath that may have been a sigh escaped him, and Aragorn fell  
silent a space. The soft glow of hidden lanterns began to warm the City  
byways, as the mustering stars chilled the sky above, until Aragorn spoke  
again.

"And whither shall I go, beyond the circles of the world?"

In that instant, Legolas's breath caught fast in his throat and he dare not  
let his eyes stray. For it seemed he beheld the King as a towering dark  
form crowned in stars, with all age fallen away from the clean, stern lines  
of his face, and all grey fled from hair as dark as in the days of his  
youth. Almost Legolas reached to touch him, for in that same moment he saw  
the stars not above Elessar's kingly head, but seemingly through him, as if  
he were but a shadow cast upon a gauze curtain.

"I bid you only this," Aragorn said, and his voice whispered like the chill  
breeze brushing the grass. "Find you peace. If e're it has eluded you,  
seek it now. Let your hearts be quiet, and let grief pass from you."

He turned, and was truly with them once more, stepping quietly closer. To  
their surprise he then swept back his cloak and knelt carefully on the cool  
stones before them. He reached to lay his hands upon the right arm of  
each, and twilight touched his face in silver and shone tiny points of  
light in his eyes.

"We come to the road's end, my friends. Our journey together has done. I  
shall embrace my peace. Fail me not in seeking your own."

Gimli had no words, struggling past the emotion welling in his chest to  
clasp a gnarled hand tightly upon the forearm that gripped him. Aragorn  
ruled not the realm of the Dwarves, but he had found a kingly seat in the  
hearts of all who counted him as friend.

For his part, Legolas could not speak words of the common tongue and his  
voice nearly failed him, even in the soft speech of the Sindarin folk.  
Words of promise, a loving oath taken, and the hands of three friends were  
joined in one last, full-hearted moment. As Aragorn arose once more, the  
whisper of his cloak fanned their faces. He replied in but a single word,  
one he had never used with them, no matter their many roads and many  
partings.

"Namarië."

Then he passed from that place, and came not again to the courtyard of the  
White Tree. The two friends he left there sat long in heart-struck  
silence. They were too full with thought to speak again, ere nightfall  
wrapped the city in a sable cloak of stars.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voice of the Sea merely whispers, until the reasons to stay pass on. Aragorn's days are ending, and Gimli faces more farewells as Legolas looks to the West ... How the story may have ended. Book-derived per ROTK Appendixes. Gap-filler. Drama, angst, friendship. Non-slash.

Dawn waxed cold and clear as it spilled upon the spires of Minas Tirith,  
and twin to the newborn day was the month of March. Brilliant gold capped  
the frosty crown of Mindolluin, washing them to ruddy rose, and in the low  
fields lambs frolicked at play. Yet within the city all hearts turned but  
one way, towards a humble westward gate in the wall of the sixth circle.  
Seldom ever did that gate open, and sorrowful were the twisting ways  
beyond. For there beneath the mountain's stony flank lay Rath Dínen, the  
Silent Street, and along it stood the mansions of the great dead of Gondor.  
Kings and nobles, lords and princes slept here, and at last also rested  
the two gallant hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrine Took. Here  
would pass Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the last of the great Kings of the  
Elder Days, and thence he should not return a living man.

In the house given them for lodgings, Legolas swept his grey cloak about  
his shoulders and laid a hand to the door. Gimli, however, stood with his  
feet planted square on the floor, and did not move.

"Let the dead keep the dead," he announced. "My heart holds remembrance of  
a living man, and I would keep it so."

"But he is not yet gone from us," Legolas said. "There is still a little  
while."

"And what more is there for us? Will you say farewell until there is no  
breath left to speak it?" Gimli spoke as if in anger, but other emotions  
often mask themselves so, and his tone then gentled. "There are those who  
love him more than even us, and to them this day belongs. Here I shall  
wait, until the bells tell me he has gone."

Distress marked itself clearly on the Elf's smooth brow, but he saw the  
grievous truth in Gimli's words. Slowly he sank down upon an open window  
ledge, and turned his face towards the quiet city beyond. There they  
waited, in a silent room where a breeze brushed the window coverings aside  
and brought a moist promise of rain. Anon the Sun hid her face behind a  
soft floss of cloud, and the mighty ribbon of the Anduin was slowly hidden  
behind the drawing of a misty veil.

As the morning waned the streets began to whisper with the soft tread of  
the people. Not to duty nor market did they come, but hither to the  
winding streets upon which their King had passed. They gathered on its  
curbs and waited, although to what purpose most could not say. The quiet  
assemblage grew and waited more, as the mist crept from the river and  
veiled from sight even Mindolluin's lofty, rugged crest. At last Gimli  
arose and Legolas went with him, passing down into that shadowless white  
morning to join the hushed throngs lining the avenue. Then from the towers  
spoke the peal of a single bell. Its deep, iron resonance lingered and  
shivered among the shrouded stones ere the next slow strike came. Even as  
a heart beats deepest, the bell struck, each toll shuddering into the  
silent bones of the city, and the very breath of the people was stilled.

Up from the Silent Street he came, he who would now be King. As he walked  
he bore in his arms the winged white crown of Gondor and with it the  
ancient scepter of Arnor. Like the wind comes up the river in a rushing of  
many leaves, so the mourning of Minas Tirith swept through her streets,  
until one thought that Eldarion drew sorrow with him as heavy train. Many  
there were who wept unashamed, whether maid or man-at-arms, for few now  
living remembered a day when Ellesar the King had not reigned, his  
influence as constant as the Sun and Stars. The mist became a light rain  
which blessed the far fields, and also laved faces already made wet with  
lamenting. Neither left nor right did Elessar's heir look, for the tokens  
he bore spoke beyond all words. Two who watched found their message to be  
bitter as swords in the dark, and the stroke of it drove deeper than death.  
As the prince passed, Gimli fell to his knees on the hard stones, and the  
storm of his anguish broke like thunders upon the high peaks. For Legolas  
there was only silence, though the blade of his grief pierced so keenly  
that his hands sought, unbidden, as if for a hidden wound.

Thus ended Aragorn, son of Arathorn, last of the Númenoreans, having given  
up his life as was the gift of his kind, and so passing into mystery before  
the strength of manhood and kingship withered from his grasp. Thus, too,  
ended a Fellowship which would be sung of even after their Age had died all  
away, and after legends had forgotten that living beings and not gods had  
done such deeds.

***

They lingered in the City, while things were done that necessity and custom  
declared for the passing of great kings. There would be a new king  
crowned, in the due passing of days, and all matters of governing would be  
discussed at length, in chambers deep within the city. The Lady Arwen  
would surely meet with ministers and counselors as well, as her son  
prepared himself for the throne. Lords from all parts of the realm would  
soon come to pledge anew their fealty and obedience, and ambassadors from  
afar would bring tidings of their good will. Meanwhile banners were flown  
and dirges played, and minstrels sang of the King's greatness. To Legolas  
and Gimli, however, the songs almost spoke of a stranger, much removed from  
the man they had known. For though he had been mighty in his rule and  
terrible in battle, so too he had been their beloved friend.

"I wish I could stop looking," Gimli said.

"Looking for what?" Legolas asked, and then he caught himself on the  
razored edge of his own silent reply. Just that morning he had paused at a  
certain turn of the street, and stood several heartbeats until he realized  
who it was he waited for.

All the city moved in one direction or another, in grieving and preparation  
at once. Yet Gimli and Legolas found themselves standing with empty hands  
and soon felt very much forgotten. Only they could not cast aside entirely  
the old loyalties of their hearts, and so they waited until a servant found  
them on the third day.

"The Lady awaits you," he said, and they followed.

He led them to the private halls of the family, and thence to chambers  
where not even they had trod before. Here the servant tapped an oaken  
door, then opened it, bid them to enter, and slipped away.

Within the chamber a bank of candles glowed, and a long curtain drifted  
from an open window, spilling sunlight in a wavering pool upon the floor.  
Near the window a slender figure sat, the rich fall of her dark hair washed  
in soft light and shadow. Lady Arwen, wife of a great King, daughter of  
Elrond Lord of Rivendell, and yet never had she seemed so small and alone.  
They drew near on hushed feet, for she did not turn to greet them.

She was aware of their presence, however, and said softly, "Forgive me that  
I have not turned my thoughts to you sooner."

"Nay, Lady," Legolas replied. "Your cares are many, and the hospitality of  
your people has kept us well."

"Nonetheless, I have misused the blessing of your friendship." She turned,  
then, and they were stilled by the fullness of her gaze upon them.  
"Please, rest yourselves at ease."

They seated themselves on cushions at her bidding, but dared not speak, for  
the Lady Arwen was much changed. Although her Elven beauty remained  
untouched by the passing of time, where once the brilliance of stars had  
shone in her eyes, there lay only lusterlessness, like water beneath ice  
that never knows the Sun. Where once the silvered shimmer of twilight had  
clung about her as a fragrant mist, now only shadows filled the sweet  
curves of her face.

"I have news which may bring some small comfort for you," she said. "Two  
of our most honored now rest beside the King. It was his wish that Merry  
and Pippin, beloved among hobbits, should be moved to sleep there at his  
side."

"That is indeed well," Gimli said. "An unsurpassed honor, and none more  
deserving."

A moment passed, and they saw her hands move upon a smallish, cloth-wrapped  
parcel in her lap. Fragile those fingers seemed, as if turned from finest  
glass. She directed her gaze once more to the window, but her sight passed  
far beyond them to some bleak, unfathomable distance.

"I took the cup of Lúthien knowing well, or so I thought, the draught I  
would drink. But now I have come to the dregs at last, and they are bitter  
upon my tongue." She sighed a frail breath that would have scarcely  
disturbed goose-down. "I see neither Sun nor Moon, and all the stars have  
gone out."

"Gondor and Arnor still remain," Gimli said, although the words came like  
ill-fitting tools to his hands. "Your son and daughters as well, and all  
who know you love you."

Her hands gently turned the wrapped thing she held. "Then let them love my  
memory."

Now her fingers worked carefully in the silken folds, and light fell upon  
the object cradled therein like sunlight ablaze in new leaves. A great  
green gem was revealed, set in the embrace of a silver eagle, wings  
outstretched, and for an instant they ceased breathing.

"Elessar," Legolas whispered, and so it was.

The great Elfstone itself, which Galadriel Queen of Elves had given to her  
daughter, and which passed thence to Arwen, her granddaughter. Amid the  
dark days of Sauron's threat, it had been Arwen's request that Galadriel  
let the Elfstone pass to Aragorn, to light their hopes until all was  
fulfilled, or all was ashes. None had seen it since except it was in  
Aragorn's possession, ever a potent symbol of his birthright. Gimli found  
himself with a hand pressed to his bearded mouth, to stifle the cry  
pressing there.

"I know my beloved spoke to you," she said. "And his wishes are bound to  
your heart."

Lightly her fingers traced the smooth, verdant face of the stone, a touch  
as delicate as if upon a lover's lips. "Legolas Greenleaf, dear friend of  
my Lord and myself, I now ask only one kindness."

"Speak it," he said.

Then her gaze turned to him, deep with sadness so keen he was stricken  
dumb.

"Take this," she said. "Take it, and keep it with you." Swiftly she  
touched the stone to her lips, then bent gently as a lily falling, and  
placed the precious thing in Legolas's startled hands. "Bear it upon the  
grey ship that will carry you into the West, and let it be our remembrance  
there."

Gimli first found speech, saying, "Lady, it belongs to your children, your  
daughters, even as it was your mother's before you."

"Nay, dear Gimli, it does not," she said, and the sadness of all the ages  
lay upon her. "It belongs to a world that has passed."

Legolas held the Elfstone as one who thinks to be burned, and in her eyes  
he saw at last the terrible distance yawning between them. For him there  
remained the promise of all the Firstborn, the welcome of the Undying Lands  
and a ship to carry him, when at last the world weighed too heavily upon  
him. Yet for her, who had lived years equal to countless lives of men  
before he was even born, there would be no ship. By her heart's choice she  
was lost to her Elven people, lost beyond all hope of healing or reunion,  
in this world or beyond. Though knowledge of her chosen doom had been with  
him long, its fruition came now unlooked-for, and he felt as if he teetered  
at the brink of a bottomless abyss.

Arwen arose in a silken whisper of skirts and slippers. She turned away  
from the window, towards the candles glimmering across the room, and the  
light cast her face as if it were carved in alabaster stone, beautiful, but  
cold and without life left in it.

"Arwen Evenstar I have been, but now I must pass into Night. Perhaps it  
shall be as my beloved said, that beyond the circles of the world is more  
than memory. Blessed shall be the hour of my leaving."

"Leave?" Gimli sputtered. "Where are you going?"

"To Lothlorien," she said, and walked to gaze into the candles' glowing  
hearts. "To Cerin Amroth, if I am permitted."

"But none live there now," Legolas protested, as both he and Gimli stood.  
"Even Celeborn has passed on to Imladris, and the Golden Wood is silent  
these many seasons."

Her head bowed in candlelight, briefly crowning her in softest gold.  
"Nonetheless, hither I shall go."

"Very well," said Gimli. "When do we leave?"

"I go alone, dear Gimli."  
"Alone!" Gimli's eyes nearly started from his head. "Lady, you cannot!  
The season is still early, the road is long and treacherous, and a Queen  
does not simply -."

"I can, and I shall." She turned swiftly, ere their further objections  
found voice. "Contest me not in this, if you bear me any least love."

Then her manner softened and she drifted near, gazing upon them kindly.  
The fingers of one hand she lightly touched upon Legolas's shoulder, and  
she looked deeply into the eyes of her husband's friend, her kinsman, he  
who would be last of all her people from whom she parted. In the Elven  
tongue she spoke, and that as softly as the current lifting the curtains  
nearby.

"Wilt thou remember us, Legolas Thranduilion, on the blessed shores of Tol  
Eressëa?"

Cupping the precious token in his hands, Legolas found his reply, though it  
came with great pain from the cracking of his heart.

"There I shall sing of thee, Lady Undómiel, and of Elessar who was King, so  
that none shall forget so long as the world remains."

"Then I thank thee, and call thee blesséd."

For Gimli she had only the touch of her hand upon his bowed head, as it  
were in benediction. Then she went from that room silently as frost flees  
the sun, and passed thence forever from their sight.

***

There were few who noted the doings of one Dwarf and a single Elf, in a  
city brim-full with both mourning and making kings. Only one Guardsman  
vaguely remembered seeing Legolas walking the lower road near the gate. So  
Gimli followed. Passing from the city he trudged between the sleeping  
hedges and down a rutted lane, until at last he struck a path that swept up  
and through a small glade. There he turned aside, and followed the dim  
track upwards, until ash and beech raised their smooth boles and barren  
limbs to spread their thin lattice-work overhead. His steps were muted by  
the thick litter of moist grey leaves, as Spring had yet to raise the sap  
from drowsy roots.

After a time the brown, leafy path curved up one last slope, and the trees  
fell away, revealing a precipice that overlooked the mighty breast of the  
Anduin River. There a broad shoulder of stone stood forth high above the  
flood, a doorsill opening upon a vast sweep of space and misty distance.  
Out upon its brow rested a solitary person, Legolas, alone with the River  
and his thoughts. He sat with his knees drawn close, and as Gimli came  
near, he saw also the curved ends of Legolas's bow, which was held against  
his chest. Galadriel's bow, gifted in that other time during the darkening  
of the world, yet the cunning of Elven craftsmanship was such that it  
remained strong and swift, needing only ordinary care and the occasional  
new string.

Even at this height, the chill, moist breath of the River exhaled upon  
their faces, and the muffled rush of its voice teased their ears. Gimli  
stood silently for a time, looking outward across the bare-bristled tops of  
sleeping trees and on to the far, sun-dappled fields. Below them the  
Anduin shone like a broad band of silver, ere it curved from sight and  
away. A thin cry reached him, piercing and sad, and he saw white gulls  
beating inland above the water. Finally Legolas spoke, although without  
turning his head.

"We are all that's left, Gimli."

Gimli was not sure if Elves wept as others did, shedding tears that burned  
and tasted bitterly of salt on the lips. But the anguish written on his  
friend's fair face was clear as if an arrow stood forth from his chest.

"It would seem so," Gimli replied, and memory rushed upon him like a spill  
of heavy books.

Frodo the Ring Bearer had sought his peace and healing lo, these many  
decades past, and with him had gone Gandalf, their great counselor and  
friend. In the fullness of his days faithful Samwise, too, had sailed  
into the West. Elrond and Galadriel had long years since left their lands  
in the keeping of others, and even Celeborn had at last abandoned  
Lothlorien, to spend his waning days with the sons of Elrond in Rivendell.  
Gallant Eomer of Rohan had joined his forefathers over half a century ago.  
Merry and Pippin had found their final honor here in Gondor, resting at  
last among sleeping kings. Now the greatest of these had lain himself to  
sleep, and his beloved queen would flee into solitary exile, and the world  
was grown ever so much larger and full of echoes. Suddenly the roster of  
goodbyes weighed like a great stone upon his shoulders. Gimli bent his  
knees and sat heavily.

Whither Legolas's silent musings flew was an enigma, for they seemed to  
have little more direction than a flight of sparrows. His next words  
caught Gimli by surprise.

"Do you still carry the lady's favor, Lock-bearer?"

"I do." Gimli swatted his chest a solid blow, where truly was kept a  
golden tress of the Lady Galadriel's hair. "Next to my heart, along with  
the memory of her beauty, shining like white gems cast into a silver sky."

A smile turned the corners of Legolas's mouth, and the blush crept warmly  
into Gimli's cheeks. Even now remembrance of Lothlorien's Lady of the Wood  
had the power to move him, and to make him feel delightfully foolish upon  
recognizing it.

Then he let his hand drop, and sighed. Below them in the empty space of  
the River's airs, the gulls keened thinly once more. Legolas grew very  
still listening. A chill touched Gimli that had naught to do with the cool  
sun of early March. Nor was he warmed, when his friend spoke again.

"I was watching the river, when you came. This very rock we sit upon has  
stood since the breaking of the world, and all the while the Anduin flows  
to the Sea. Does the river grieve for what passes and does not come back?  
For neither I nor this stone can slow the ages, nor turn them aside. We  
can only endure, as all passes beyond us. Even the stones shall change,  
while the doom of the Elves is to continue. And now I am heir to even more  
sadness, for I must carry the Elfstone as proof that all the things we  
wrought are done, and with Men alone lies dominion of the world."

Alas, the art of the Dwarves lay in the skill of their hands, not their  
words, and so Gimli remained unhappily silent. The mercurial moods of  
Elves were often beyond his grasping, anyhow, and he only hoped that, as in  
other times, this melancholy would also pass. And in truth, Legolas again  
looked over his shoulder, and sunlight touched his eyes.

"You at least are my comfort, Gimli. If stone endures, so always has your  
stout heart."

"And my good sense. It is that damp and chilly, here, and I am hungry.  
Come with me back to the city, and we'll roust a fat cook from his  
laziness."

Legolas stirred, but then settled, and Gimli sighed. One did not slow an  
Elf when he was hasty, nor rush him when he was listless, and oft it was a  
trial to wait for either temper to pass.

"We'll leave tomorrow, I should think," Gimli said. "It's too late to  
begin travel today."

"Yes," Legolas answered.

The gulls cried once more, and his attention swept outward, seeking their  
flight. Bright and keen his eyes were, but whatever they saw was beyond  
the vision of Dwarves, and his profile fixed unerringly whence the River  
faded to westward. Disliking this mood upon his friend, Gimli sought to  
distract him with trifles.

"An early start, mind you. The days have been entirely too burdensome, and  
there is much I should attend to at home. Tonight, I wish a good meal, a  
good cup, and a good rest."

"I, too, wish rest," Legolas replied. "But I fear I shall not find it."

Then he sighed, ere his glance sought his friend once more. "Tomorrow's  
dawn, then," Legolas said. "I shall see you safely to your halls, and then  
I will see my own folk in Ithilien."

Still he sat, and Gimli was patient, and at least the infernal gulls had  
flown themselves off somewhere out of sight or hearing.

"I am weary, Gimli," Legolas said suddenly. "Weary with partings and  
farewells, until it seems the very world dies around me."

Towards the West he still faced, and his hands flexed upon Galadriel's bow.  
There the Anduin vanished in the land and the land vanished into haze, and  
beyond even Elven-sight rumbled the ceaseless billows of the Sea.

"I think," he said. "That I shall make but one last journey."

And Gimli knew, though it broke his heart as a frost shatters stone, that  
they faced one more farewell, and that the most grievous of all. But  
better this, Gimli's loyalty whispered, than to ask this dearest of  
comrades to linger until he stood over another grave. As Aragorn had  
asked, each must seek his own way to peace.

"Then we shall go together," he declared stoutly. "At least as far as the  
shore. I have never seen the Sea. I am told the waves break upon the very  
bones of the earth, and the oldest stones stand bare to see. Even the  
broken lands from the ancient battles of Melkor and the Valar, they say,  
lie thrust up from the floor of the deep waters. It will be something to  
tell the younger ones, when I get back."

Glancing sidelong at Legolas's pensive face, he added, "That is, if you  
wish company on the road."

"I wish your company," said Legolas softly. "On all roads."

Of a sudden he stood, unfolding from passiveness to full height in a  
flowing move that made Gimli's knees ache to watch. There seemed nothing  
to warrant this action, and indeed Legolas then closed his eyes for a long  
moment. Warily Gimli looked for gulls, but saw none.

Glancing up again, he now saw Legolas's eyes were open and his face  
abruptly set in fierce lines. A quick hand dipped for an arrow, and as  
swiftly he pressed the bow to full draw. Mouth tight, he held his aim on  
some point in infinity. Then with a snapping whir the arrow fled. It  
lifted in flight far out over the bare trees below, arcing slowly down and  
spiraling smaller until it was lost to any but perhaps Elven eyes. For an  
instant Legolas held his position in follow-through, then let the great bow  
sag in his hand.

Quietly he said, "I have loosed my last arrow on these shores.&quot:


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voice of the Sea merely whispers, until the reasons to stay pass on. Aragorn's days are ending, and Gimli faces more farewells as Legolas looks to the West ... How the story may have ended. Book-derived per ROTK Appendixes. Gap-filler. Drama, angst, friendship. Non-slash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is entirely my own plot-device that Legolas carried the

Sorrow rose then like a mighty tide within, but Gimli bowed his head though  
it choked him, and spoke not. He could not ask what selfishness might  
demand, for his love for this oldest friend was greater even than his love  
for himself. Legolas would sail into the West, and that right soon, and  
Gimli would remain to attend his own days and his own people, until even  
the long lives of Dwarven-kind ended and he, too, must die as all mortal  
things of Middle Earth.

"Ai, Gimli, I have so loved the world," Legolas cried. "If I looked now  
upon the fullness of Spring, when the forests were singing and friends  
awaited me in the greenwood, I should be torn to my very depths. But  
Elessar is gone and his Lady is lost, and I fear that I will never know  
Spring again."

Courage Gimli found, and he spoke. "Do they not have Spring, in the  
Blessed Realm?"  
"Spring, and summer, and never the frost of winter," Legolas replied, and  
bowed his head. "Neither withered leaf nor faded bloom, nor partings ever  
more."

"Then when shall you sail?"

"Soon," Legolas whispered, lifting his gaze to Westward once more. "Before  
the grief of the world drowns me."

"Well, then." Gimli braced his hands on the stone, and heaved himself to  
his feet, for he had wearied of craning his neck to look up at an already-  
tall Elf. "It seems you have some packing to do. Come, my stomach wants  
proper attention, and we have a long road tomorrow."

"Gimli."

The Dwarf turned, and with all compassion and an aching heart he met and  
held his friend's sorrowful gaze. Legolas shifted his hands upon  
Galadriel's bow, ere he spoke.

"Gimli, I cannot - how shall I part from you?"

"Best to do it sooner, when I can appreciate the sentiment. It would do me  
precious little favor if you spoke only to the slab marking my tomb."

Yet it seemed the strange turns of Elvish thought were again at work, and  
the distress of it was plain on Legolas's face. "If you could see the Lady  
Galadriel . . . if you could return to her the gift she gave, would you do  
it?"

"Would I?" Gimli cried, and then scowled sternly. "Do not offer what is  
not yours to give, Master Elf."

"Not mine," Legolas replied. "But perhaps from the Lady who once granted  
you the favor of her affections."

"You speak in riddles, my friend. Be plain, for my belly grows impatient."

"I speak of ships, Gimli. A grey ship I shall build at Ithilien and sail  
down this great water, until at last I will gaze upon the wide breast of  
the Sea!" A fey excitement seemed to have seized him, and Legolas spoke in  
a hurried rush. "The Straight Road will be clear to me, Gimli. There need  
be no fear of either shipwreck or upset, nor shall we be lost, for there is  
but one route to sail."

Confusion now tumbled Gimli's poor wit entirely, and he squinted up at his  
friend. "You have gone from riddles to prattling, Legolas. Pray make  
sense, before you lose me in the wilderness of your words, never mind the  
Sea."

"Gimli, come with me."

There were no gulls. No wind. Just the hushed rumble of the Anduin far  
below.

"Come with you."

"Yes!"

"No Dwarf will ever set foot on those shores." The absurdity of the  
thought for that instant overrode even the upset of separation. "No Dwarf,  
if he has any sense, will even set foot on a ship! Your little cockleshell  
would be dashed to the bottom of the deep ere we lost sight of land, if I  
were in it! You speak foolishness."

"Nay, Gimli, I do not." Legolas abruptly dropped to one knee, his bow  
clasped tight, and his eyes grew bright as sword points. "You of all  
Dwarves are named Elf-friend, and you are the last of the great Fellowship  
in this realm. The tales of your deeds bring you honor such as no Dwarf  
has known. You were beloved friend of Elessar the King. You are favored  
of the Lady Galadriel, which not even Durin could have imagined. I will  
plead for you there, Gimli, even to Manwë himself, if I must. I and  
Galadriel and Mithrandir, and all in that place who know your worth. The  
Lady has no small power, or Elrond either, and I shall add all the strength  
that is in my heart -."

Then Legolas caught himself, and his tone gentled as he damped his fervor  
to a lower flame. "Gimli, I see I thrust a great quandary upon you, and  
you cannot answer now. But do not refuse now, either, I beseech you."

There was frank pleading in Legolas's expression, even as he tried to  
lessen the weight of his request. However, the great wish of his heart  
would not be quenched.

"At least give the thought a little time, to see if it grows on you. It  
would be a reward of peace, for all your great labors in this world."

Gimli humphed a heavy breath and faced outwards towards the river and  
distant fields, arms crossed.

"The Lady Galadriel has forgotten she ever knew such a poor creature as I."

"The Lady holds you in her thought, as always you hold a lock of her hair."

"I have no legs for boats."

Legolas stood, watching him carefully. "Then you may sit down."

"I will be seasick."

"Nay, you shall not."

"I will be swallowed up in a great wave and eaten by sea serpents."

"Not if you stay in the boat."

Gimli remained with his face turned to the broad sweep of lands below, and  
it was Legolas's turn to be patient. Nor do the thoughts of Dwarves turn  
often in haste, unless great ire is aroused, for their works are most in  
stone, which defies hurry and rashness. Yet though Gimli's hands loved  
most the work he gave them, whether in building or in war, and though he  
filled his days and years with the unceasing efforts thereof, and neither  
took a wife nor foster son, there remained one constant. Through all times  
and all deeds, there remained one most unlikely friend. An Elven prince  
from the far forests of Mirkwood who, if nothing else, had taught him to  
love sun and starlight as much as the riches of the deep mountains. He had  
loved even as Legolas had loved, mourning friends and Fellowship as each  
passed from them, and yet withal he was richer for it. Now he had been  
offered one last gift, uncertain and perilous though it may be.

"How long will it take, to build this overdone ferry of yours?"

"I suppose that, by the time all things are in order, the moon will have  
come 'round its full turning."

"Hmm," Gimli rumbled.

Legolas waited and Gimli thought, and at last he spoke.

"Last night the moon was new. When the moon is half-grown, come, and I  
will give you my answer."

"I will come," said Legolas, and his face lit with joy. "I will come, and  
you will hear me singing before your warriors at the gates open their eyes  
to see me!"

"I have not said yes," Gimli warned.

But Legolas saw the smile lurking in his beard, and laughed. "Nor have you  
said no, and until you do, all nays may become yeas, and all cannots become  
coulds."

"And pigs may sprout wings and soar away over the rooftops," Gimli  
grumbled, and turned his feet towards the downward path. "Have I ever  
mentioned that Elves regularly make very little sense?"

"Frequently," Legolas answered as he followed. "And have I ever mentioned  
the stiff necks of Dwarves?"

"At every chance."

The slender boles of the wood gently closed about their fading voices,  
until once more the deep hush of the River breathed the only sound. In the  
White City a new King would be crowned, and on the yet-ungreen roads to the  
north, a Queen would slip away as silently as a doe in the forest.  
Beginnings and endings converged, much like new green shoots curled from  
the rotting, blackened leaves of winter. In each there was both peril and  
promise.

Yet when the rains of early April came to the Vale of the Anduin, among the  
mists that clung to the River's breast a clever eye might have seen a  
single grey ship sailing. A more prudent mind might have reasonably argued  
that it was merely a trick of the fog drifting from the dripping trees.  
But to the green paths of the forest never again came Legolas Greenleaf,  
and the mountain halls of the Dwarves saw Gimli, son of Gloin, nevermore.

Out where the great Sea thundered on the bones of the world the Sun burst  
forth in glory, and joyously cast aside the rags of spent clouds. Then  
beyond and to the western rim of the world, the deepening blue glittered as  
if sown with white gems. One gem, perhaps, winked brilliant green, and  
bore with it a single sail.

~~ FINIS ~~

 

 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It is entirely my own plot-device that Legolas carried the  
Elfstone of Galadriel to the Blessed Realm with him. Such an incident is  
not any part of Tolkien's histories of Middle Earth. I have in fact found  
no mention of the stone's fate after Aragorn's death, and so I took this  
liberty.

Actually, the Lady Arwen simply told me that was what happened . . .


End file.
